


Save A Horse...

by kakaitalover



Series: Cowboys and ... Mobsters? Is That How It Works? [1]
Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Cowboys!, M/M, So Research Relied On Wikipedia, Sorry If I Fucked Up, The Only Western I've Ever Watched Was The Good The Bad And The Ugly, mentioned bdsm, slight roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 16:40:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3699485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kakaitalover/pseuds/kakaitalover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the cowboys. John had always liked cowboys. Really, <i>really</i> liked cowboys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Save A Horse...

It started on Halloween.

John needed to weave his way through a Halloween party, fully armed and bearing a machine gun, without drawing attention. Furthermore, and this was far more difficult, he needed to get Harry Dresden – all six feet and nine scruffy, underfed, ostentatious, armed-to-the-teeth inches of him – through the same party, again without drawing attention. The alternative was … not an option.

Dresden was looking around wildly for another route, or perhaps a previously-overlooked invisibility potion. John hoped he found it, because there was accomplishing the impossible, and there was accomplishing the _impossible._ Dresden stood out in just about any room by sheer virtue of his height – the El Dorado leather duster, prevalent jewelry, and Gandalf-esque staff didn't help him to blend any, but it only barely outweighed Dresden's poorly-hidden air of extreme discomfort when surrounded by strangers, particularly those unaware of the world he lived and breathed.

Noticing that swirling leather had stilled, he turned to see what had caught the wizard's attention, only to find the tall scarecrow of a man looming over him with a triumphant gleam in his eye.

“I think I found a way to get us in,” he murmured excitedly. The wicked smirk that followed was less than reassuring. “Hope you've got your wallet on you.”

Stepping out of a nearby pawn shop fifteen minutes later with a new fedora, a violin case, and a toothpick (he was assured he _did not want to know_ why Dresden was carrying a bunch of toothpicks on his person), John caught sight of Dresden's costume and nearly dropped the case, unprepared for the sight of a cowboy hat and a downright Texan belt buckle. Dresden may have been trying to affix a stuffed horse's bodiless head to his staff with a bit of string, but he would have had to be blind to miss John's sudden clumsiness and stupefied expression.

Ever since childhood, John had had an unshakable fondness for Westerns. It was the cowboys. John had always liked cowboys. Really, _really_ liked cowboys. Jack Palance, Steve Forrest, Dennis Weaver, Clint Eastwood, John Wayne, James Arness, John had watched their films until the tape ribbons wore out. And the attraction of the genre had only deepened with the onset of puberty.

His mind flew back to being fourteen and just introduced to the closet, finally understanding why his stomach always squirmed with an odd medley of lust and jealousy whenever Matt Dillon smiled and tipped his hat or leaned in for a kiss from Miss Kitty. He remembered being seventeen, newly aware of the world of ropes and leather and “sir,” realizing why his skin tingled and his breath got short every time McCloud lassoed his man.

And now, because the fates hated him, he was on a well-lit street corner with Harry too-fucking-obliviously-attractive-for-his-own-good Dresden. In full cowboy regalia. Fuck.

Dresden eyed him curiously, but finished tying off his makeshift hobby-horse before he ambled over, giving John time to hide his reaction behind the increasingly handy violin case. The wizard looked him over critically, then rummaged through his pockets muttering, “Needs something... Where is it? Ha!”

He folded a handkerchief competently and tucked it into John's breast pocket. John's breathing stuttered and he clutched at the case like a lifeline, but otherwise remained calm and inscrutable. Then Dresden tipped his hat and drawled, “Wahll, ah reckon we done 'bout as much as we can do out here, Mis-ter Marcone. Whaddaya say we head in there, rustle up some monsters an' save them poor party-goers?”

The casual salute hit home like a blow to the solar plexus, but the accent was what broke him, the final straw that snapped his control. John bit through his toothpick and trembled in place, panting. He knew his eyes had dilated until they looked almost black, could feel the heat rising _(fuckfuckfuck)_ under his skin in _(FUCK)_ a full-body blush. He heard himself draw in a shaky breath and say, in a husky, quivering voice he barely recognized as his own, “You've got yourself a date, cowboy.”

His hand moved of its own accord, pulling a replacement toothpick from Dresden's pants pocket and bringing it up to his lips. He twirled it suggestively, looking up through his eyelashes at Dresden's gobsmacked expression. Hiding a nervous gulp behind a coy smile, he hefted the case carelessly over his shoulder, exposing the marred fall of his trousers, then turned and walked toward the party, subtly adding a little extra sway to his step. Dresden's gaze burned into him from behind. “You coming, Sheriff?” he called over his shoulder, smirking as he caught the wizard's eyes jerking up from his backside.

The night was off to a promising start.

**Author's Note:**

> Kalinda Little made podfic of the original on soundcloud.com! [Link here!](https://soundcloud.com/kalinda-little/save-a-horse)


End file.
